


patchwork

by swagikins



Series: china cabinets [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, F/M, Implied/Referenced Cheating, M/M, Quickies, Softcore Porn, Supernatural Elements, Vent fic with sporadic updates, probably no happy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-28
Updated: 2020-12-15
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:34:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21996835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swagikins/pseuds/swagikins
Summary: The term “cracking under the pressure” has never been taken so literally.
Relationships: Obi-Wan Kenobi/Anakin Skywalker, Padmé Amidala/Anakin Skywalker
Series: china cabinets [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1583428
Comments: 16
Kudos: 40





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> humans are humans, but when under intense pressure or emotion, they begin to crack like porcelain dolls on the skin, starting at the heart and then spiderwebbing to the rest of their bodies/or somewhere else, but only in certain situations.
> 
> keep in mind, enjoy
> 
> title is based on the song patchwork by ryan beatty

Padme felt the sting of tears poke at her eyes. She had to look up at the light above her, on the ceiling, and hold her tongue against the roof of her mouth as to not let the burning tears fall. She stood the farthest from Anakin she could, next to the front door. On the table next to her, there was a bouquet of slowly wilting roses, varying in color; from red, to white, to purple and pink. There was also a fern at the front next to the TV, with blooms of nicely growing flowers that were white with pink linings. 

But in a room with so much color in it, from the flowers to the pictures of them and their children and their friends and family, the room could never feel so dull.

Anakin was a good four or five feet from her, six even, his hands at his sides. He looked utterly defeated, but didn’t let that show too much; his blue eyes desperately searched the floor for something to focus on other than his girlfriend in front of him. Maybe a speck of dirt, or a clump of dust, or a crumb from the dinner they ate a few hours ago. Anything would be better to look at than Padme. 

“Why won’t you look at me?” She finally said. Her voice cracked, and she sounds as if she had already been crying for days, when she really hadn’t cried at all. Up until then, at least. “Are you _that_ tired of our relationship? You can’t even look at me anymore?”

Anakin almost physically winced. 

“At least _try_ and defend yourself.” 

Anakin slowly let out a sigh, and brought up a hand to pinch at the bridge of his nose. He then glanced up, daring to take a peek towards Padme, who looked at him with something like that of Death itself in her stare, despite looking so broken on the outside. 

“I..” Anakin started to speak, licking chapped lips as he tried to figure out what the right thing to say was. He started to pace, walking from where he left an imprint of his feet in the carpet to the left end of the living room and then back, going all the way to the beginning of the hall and then back again. It was a slow, deliberate walk, and Padme knew he was stalling, yet decided not to call him out on it.

“I had too much to drink. It..it wasn’t even anything that bad, Padme. We—“

“I walked into our bedroom to see you sucking Obi-Wan’s _dick_ , Anakin!” Padme almost outright scoffed at how her boyfriend tried to assess the situation. Her eyes went wide, and she threw her hands out in frustration. As if to mock Anakin, the promise ring on her left hand caught the light of the room and glinted a small rainbow across his line of vision. Three small diamonds across a silver band, a promise to replace them with one, one that was bigger and real. It was a cold joke from God that Anakin didn’t find funny.

“What do you expect me to say? I can’t come up with any excuse to get myself out of this, because I know you wouldn’t take it for a straight and honest answer. What the fuck am I supposed to say, Padme?” Anakin tilted his head at her, shrugging his shoulders in a defeated manner as he stopped pacing, standing near the kitchen. 

The light from the island bar in the kitchen flickered, casting a shadow over Anakin’s face before it came back on. 

“Maybe if you hadn’t gone out at all, none of that would’ve happened in the first goddamn place.” Padme seem to hiss at him, crossing her arms over her bust and turning around. 

Anakin clenched his jaw, and felt a burn on his chest. There was a _snap, crackle, pop_ , and closed his eyes momentarily. 

“You said I could go. It was Obi-Wan’s farewell party. He’s heading to Fort Coruscant tomorrow, and he won’t be back for two years, at the most. If we had found someone to keep an eye on Luke and Leia, you could have come too. You would have enjoyed yourself as much as I did.” 

Padme scoffed. “So much I’d be eating a girl out on the couch, right? One leg propped up on the back of the couch and everything, huh?” 

Anakin clenched his fists, raising them as if he was about to thrash at something, before bringing them back down at his sides in an attempt to keep from turning this into a worse fight than it already was. 

“You...you’ve always...—“ 

Padme had turned around, facing the front door and looking down at the white fuzzy slippers on her feet. She suddenly whirled, her chestnut brown curls of hair slapping her in the face as she advanced on the man before her. _Crack crack crack._

“I’ve always what, Ani? Always wanted to fuck someone else? Always wanted to throw away five whole _years_ of a relationship with someone I’ve trusted, someone I’ve relied on, put my whole _life_ into, just cause it was a farewell party?! He told me you deliberately coaxed him into it, Anakin! You were the initiator!” 

The light seemed to be taunting Anakin once again. It hit Padme’s face just right, illuminating the beautiful hue of her green eyes, and the perfect balance of freckles along her cheeks. It gave light to the t-shirt she was wearing —his, of course—that hung off of her shoulders, baring more freckles and highlighting the swelling curve of her breasts and the cleavage that sunk into the shirt. The light shown the spotlight on the beauty of Padme that Anakin had fallen in love with—still loved, was still infatuated with. 

Curse you, God. 

“You haven’t had sex with me in months, Amidala!” Anakin seethed, pointing an accusing finger at her. He stepped towards her, his boots making the wood underneath the carpet creak with old age. “Ever since the twins have started to need more attention, it’s always been about them, and you haven’t given me a single fucking ounce of your time.” 

“That’s what happens when you have sex with someone, Anakin! That’s what happens when you don’t wear a condom because ‘it feels weird’!” Padme seemed to be pleading with him at this point, yet also flabbergasted at how idiotic he seemed to be acting. “That’s what happens when you have _children_!” 

“Well I didn’t _fucking want them anyways!_ ” 

_Crack crack crack snap crack click click._

Anakin screwed his eyes shut as a vein popped out on his forehead, just underneath the unruly waves of his auburn hair. The burn on his chest spread, and there was a sting that bloomed outwards. A crack, like on porcelain dolls when Leia drops them, poked out of the collar of his shirt. Then, another one popped up, stemming from it—and then it spiderwebbed upwards, cracking up his neck, creaking along the underside of his jaw until it slowed to a standstill, a dangerously looking crack on his skin appearing on his face, looming evilly underneath his right eye. 

Anakin heaved through his nostrils in slow, heavy intervals. His skin looked paler than normal with so much damage to it, and Padme fell silent. A tear fell down her face, leaving a streak along her cheek. She let out a yelp, bring her left arm against her chest and holding it with a vice-like grip as a small fissure poked out on the underside of her forearm from her t-shirt like a surprising spider. 

Anakin looked down. He let his head drop, not in shame, as he shouldn’t feel ashamed for blurting something so harsh as the truth. But instead, his head dropped in guilt, for enduring so much pain in this relationship, for cheating on his loving significant other, for putting her through the situation, and for falsely loving the two children that were without a doubt his own offspring—children that he didn’t originally want. 

He must still have some of that Fireball intoxicating his veins. 

Padme continued to sob silently, her eyes shut as tears streaked her cheeks, and dropped onto the shirt she wore, dampening the fabric. She still held her arm against her chest, even when she stepped aside, letting Anakin stomp towards the door. 

She had never felt so embarrassed for loving someone so unconditionally and with her whole body and soul. 

Anakin grabbed his set of car keys off of the hangar, and opened the door. When it shut, albeit with a bit of a slam, the frame rattled, as did Padme’s bones when she finally let her eyes flutter open—she had the audacity to reach out, even as the door shut, as a fracture-like crack started at the tip of her fingers, slowly slithering up her fingers and resting at the base of her knuckles. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> unedited and super long I think lmao enjoy!

“Daddy, why do you and mommy not sleep in the same room anymore?” Luke Skywalker questioned his father as he cleaned up his toys, including his sister’s—who happened to be napping on the couch at the moment, wrapped up in Anakin’s comforter and bundled up on his pillow—and carried them with all his effort back into their shared bedroom. Anakin could still hear his son talking gibberish as he dumped the toy soldiers and porcelain dolls into their wooden toy box, and shut it, coming back into the kitchen.

Anakin was currently making Luke a sandwich, finishing up with the jelly as he placed the lid back on. He turned and put the jelly back in the fridge and the peanut butter back in the pantry, putting the sandwich on a paper plate, before placing it before Luke as he plopped himself into a chair at the dining table.

The question rang in Anakin’s ears as he tried to come up with an answer suitable for a four, almost five year old to hear. If he were to be honest, he didn’t have one himself, one that would make much sense to him; he didn’t have the time to really comprehend the severity of the doghouse he had put himself in. 

“It’s because Mommy wants to sleep in the bed by herself for a while. Eat your sandwich, okay?” Anakin murmured, walking over to place a kiss atop Luke’s head of dirty blonde hair.

“What’s wrong with your face, too, daddy? Did you watch a sad movie?” Luke asked another question. “Was it the Lion King?” He looked up at Anakin, blue eyes full of curiosity.

The elder Skywalker felt an embarrassing blush heat his ears. There were fading cracks and splinters along his cheek and over his right eye, that sunk down his neck and into the collar of his dry-fit shirt; they were still stark against his tanned skin. They had spread when he let his head get the better of him, but now they were slowly healing.

He was grateful that he didn’t lose the ability to see out of his right eye, albeit his vision was a half-sided blur. 

“Don’t worry about it, bud. I’m gonna step outside for a minute.” 

Anakin quietly grabbed his jacket off of the back of the recliner next to the couch, careful not to let his footfalls disturb a soundly sleeping Leia as he went towards the door. Shrugging his leather jacket on, he fumbled with the pocket to grab the pack of cigarettes and lighter out of it before he opened the door, stepped through the threshold, and shut it behind him with a soft click.

It was snowing. It had been snowing for a good two or three hours that morning, covering the front yard in a heavy blanket of precipitation; the shrubs and bushes along the driveway were heavily quilted, looking as if they were just terribly built snowmen with no eyes or nose. The chain-link fence was still standing though, with no snow to cover it, yet was covered in a thin layer of permafrost. Anakin’s car was frozen over, as was Padme’s

Not a surprise.

Anakin stepped to the left, and pulled a cigarette out of the crumpled pack before sticking it between his chapped lips and giving it a light. The taste of the tobacco still made him grimace, yet he force himself to inhale anyways and shove both lighter and pack back into his pocket.

Even now, he could feel the cracks in his skin ever so slowly—agonizingly, horrifically slowly—recede back to his chest. It took a good week or so for normal cracks to heal, yet these fissures were almost deserving to Anakin. It had been about two weeks since that terrible fight with Padme; his heart ached just thinking about it.

He hoped one day he got so mad he’d shatter.

Lost in his thoughts, he didn’t notice the red Mercedes turn into the driveway and pull in to a stop. The driver looked like one of Padme’s work friends—he didn’t care. What he cared about was the beauty stepping out of the passenger side, toting her bag over her shoulder as she shut the door. 

She passed right by Anakin, going inside.

A couple minutes later, a hyperactive Luke and groggy Leia stepped into the cold, trailed by their mother who frantically wrapped them in their winter coats. They walked over to the Mercedes, greeting Padme’s coworker with gleeful smiles and claims of “Auntie Vicky!” 

Anakin just watched from his perch on the porch, taking another drag of his nasty ass cigarette and blowing the smoke into the chilly air. He watched as the twins piled up into this woman’s car, seemingly excited for some reason unbeknownst to him, and left.

Padme waved them off until they were no longer visible and down the road, lingering in the snow; she dropped her hand and turned, heading back into the house. Her footfalls were heavy and—she went right past Anakin.

This left Anakin mildly hurt—it was the second time she had walked right by him without speaking a word. Not even an uttered syllable, or a hum of acknowledgement. He was also confused, but trailed her inside anyways after throwing his cigarette down and stomping it out with a boot-clad foot.

He gently let the door click shut behind them, wiping his feet on the towel haphazardly thrown on the floor for wet and snow-covered newcomers, and took a few more steps to plop himself on his couch.

“Who was that?” Anakin asked tentatively after a couple minutes of tension-filled silence, at least to him, licking his chapped lips. He studied the way Padme cleaned up in the kitchen and how she took off her layers of winter clothes placing her purple scarf on the counter, then her coat, and then the thin swear she wore under that, and slowing when she was in nothing but her scrubs and some mismatching socks.

She cleared her throat, kneeling to open a lower cabinet to grab a pan. Metal object clunk together, banging and making a quite loud racket, before she stood back up, placing her pan on the stove. She turned around, grabbing bread from by the microwave. She grabbed cheese and butter from the fridge. She placed the food things by the stove; Anakin concluded she was going to make a grilled cheese.

Fucking obviously.

“It was a friend from work. She took the kids over to her house for a playdate with her own.” She replied idly. Her head was low, focused on what she was doing rather than focusing on conversing with her boyfriend who sat just a few feet away in the conjoined room. 

Anakin let out a breathy “oh.” He looked down at his lap, fiddling with his fingers. He hesitated before speaking again, this time furrowing his brow when he looked back up. “How come I’ve never met her?” 

The pan sizzled with the application of grease spray before Padme placed down a buttered piece of bread, a slice of cheese, and another piece of buttered bread. He could smell it from in the living room, and heard her flip the sandwich with a spatula. 

“She’s a new friend. We just got more acquainted.” 

Anakin let out another small breath of air in response. His head started to hurt some, but the pain was nothing compared to what he started to feel heating up in between his ribs. 

Anakin coughed a little. “How was work?”

Padme finished making one sandwich, and then started on another. She grabbed a plate and put the first sandwich on it, spraying more grease spray and quirking a brow.

“It was alright. Not too many patients came in.”

Anakin brought a hand up to rub at his forehead, sighing. He closed his eyes for a moment, feeling kind of hopeless at trying to speak to his girlfriend—the last two weeks has been nothing but idle conversation. Nothing but awkward small talk and soul-eating silence.

“I figured out what to get the twins for their birthday.”

At that, Padme gave a small hum. “Oh? Surprising.”

Anakin bit his tongue hard enough to almost draw blood. He felt guilt eat away at his soul. Embarrassment bit at his temple, worsening his headache. Was she still stuck on that?

“How’s Obi-Wan? Surely his superiors are treating him well while he’s stationed at Coruscant.” Padme now sat at the dining room table, where Luke sat just about an hour ago. She brushed his crumbs onto the floor from his PB and J, and took a bite of her grilled cheese while giving a somewhat cold glance at Anakin.

“Alright, look, I’m—I’m trying my best, okay?” Anakin let out a weary, breathless chuckle, rubbing his left hand through his rusty auburn waves of hair. 

He was due for a haircut.

“How’s that going for you?” Padme seemed uninterested in where this conversation was heading, taking another bite of her lunch and chewing with a lazy roll and a look down at her mismatching socks.

Anakin got up, rubbing his face with his hands as he went towards the kitchen. He leaned his shoulder against the threshold of where the living room and kitchen connect, tucking his hands underneath his arms and sucking hard between his teeth. His nerves were a big bundle and static and black and white and prickling sensations and goosebumps on his arms.

“Padme, I—“

“I don’t think..” she swallowed the bite of food in her mouth, taking a sip of the kool-aid she had poured when Anakin probably wasn’t paying attention. “I don’t think you understand the severity of what you said. And did, too.“

“I’m trying to fix my mistakes! But—you’re not at all being open to me trying to _fix my mistakes_ ,” Anakin said in an almost quiet, hushed pleading tone.

“I’m trying to undo what I’ve done. I’ve-I’ve spent time with the kids, I’ve called off of work to stay here and clean up for you, to make you dinner, to give you your space, all at the same time, and I—I don’t know what else to do!

“What else do I have to do? What do I need to do to make things right with you, Pad?” Anakin said, laughing a little at how absurd he felt having to grovel for Padme’s forgiveness—for her to even listen and _contemplate_ to forgive him—

Padme set down her grilled cheese, dusting off the bosom of her baby blue scrub shirt, and wiping at her mouth. She leaned back in the chair, and crossed her arms, looking almost _disappointed_ in him.

“I want you to do whatever you think would make you happy.” She said simply, tilting her head. She seemed...monotone, sounded monotone. “Whatever you think is best for you to do.”

Anakin felt something across his chest, and felt a _crack_ reverberate within his throat as the fissure going up his jaw parted off and webbed across his neck, and then up the other side of his jaw, kissing the lower part of his cheek.

The mountain of guilt and embarrassment finally collapsed into an avalanche, falling into the pits of his stomach, weighing him down so much he fell silent.

“I..”

He wished he had never gone to that party.

Padme looked down at Anakin’s feet, and then flicked her beautiful green eyes back up to his face, counting the cracks across his cheek and the crack over his eye, and the blemishes on his neck and the blemishes that sunk into the t-shirt he wore. 

There was a tremble of terrible silence between the two of them before Padme slid out of her seat, quietly side-stepping Anakin so she could put her plate in the sink; she sipped on her kool-aid as she retreated to her room to change into more comfortable clothes.

Anakin didn’t notice the tear that escaped her eye as she turned the corner, her wiping it away with a quick swipe of her finger.


	3. Chapter 3

Her ears were absolutely ringing.

_Loud_ , she thought. _It’s so loud in here._

The lights—they were almost as loud as the music, in her eyes, and the people dancing together mingled their scents of sweat and cheap cologne, all so close and all so...putrid—but Padme found it strangely easing to her head while she pushed through the men and women with her elbows jutted outwards. She came to the bathroom, placed in the corner of the club with chipped walls and low-dangling light fixtures. 

There was a line, of course, and she had no option but to wait with the other four women ahead of her. 

Two walked out giggling about something, stumbling and clutching to dirty shoulders back to a table on the edge of the dance floor.

One walked out, a redhead, with her face lit up by a bright phone screen.

Padme, idly thinking about how the kids were doing, pulled out her own phone to send a quick text to Ahsoka and asked how she was faring against the twins. Her thumbs slipped—she had a couple too many beers, probably—but managed to send out a message all the same, albeit with the help of her autocorrect.

_How’s Luke and Leia? Causing any trouble?_

The message sent and Padme glanced up, stepping aside to let a girl through who looked terribly underage and couldn’t handle her liquor. 

She laughed, and then—caught sight of him.

Anakin, as tall and broad as always, was leaning against a wooden pillar towards the left side of the club with a drink in his hand. He was leaned over, whispering in the ears of some intrigued lady with a taste in fashion.

_He grabbed anywhere he could. His hands were like fire, running down her skin and touching wherever and whenever they pleased; his nails were sharp in her hip and she couldn’t bite back the whine in her throat._

_“Shh, quiet,” Anakin uttered as his lips trailed down her jaw in an attempt to tilt her head back, his tongue was hot and heavy against her windpipe and Padme hiked her leg up his side with the ache of lust burning her core._

_The music was shaking the walls and this room was oh so too tiny, too small—a mop handle was jabbing into her left but cheek as she was pressed up against the bricks but fuck it she didn’t care she just—_

The woman said something snarky, she guessed, and it caused Anakin to laugh. She could practically hear it from over here; it was a warm, full laugh, and he shook his head, mouthing something to her in reply that she couldn’t read.

The strobe lights flashed, causing a swirl in Padme’s eyes. She couldn’t help but eye Anakin’s hair—he had gotten it cut, shorter, more to his eyes and some type of undercut with a fade—it made him look younger than he already was. She liked it, almost, and she glanced back down at her phone in time to see that Ahsoka was still up and still tending to the children.

_Her shirt, brand new, had slipped over her shoulders, and the black lace bra was quick to follow. Anakin was smart to avoid the scars on her chest, like little etched lines in carved stone, worn away by weather, but was quick to tend and care to every other inch of her skin with quick kisses and love bites and everything in between._

_Gods, it was hot in this closet—“Anakin, please...”—He undid the buckle on his belt, quicker to think than she was. Her hands snaked up to tug at his auburn blonde hair, feeling irritated it was shorter than normal, and his head bent down to lick at the curve of her breasts, and—_ crack crack crack _—a crevice creeped up his neck—_

_They’re doing fine. Watching a movie, eating popcorn. Enjoy yourself, quit worrying about these devils! Bring home some hot guys, don’t have all the fun ;)_

She couldn’t help but smile and shake her head. But—

She looked back up, feeling a tingle in the back of her skull, and caught the gaze of Anakin staring at her.

He was quick to look away, some new girl tugging on his flannel. He was quick to yank it back, giving her what looked to be a narrowed eyed grin, and took a sip of his drink.

_Okay, no promises..._

“Um, excuse me, can you hurry up?”

Padme blinked quickly, whirling to see a tall, aging woman eye her and jab a wrinkled and polished finger over her shoulder to the bathroom. Without realizing it, Padme had gotten to the front.

_Warm, hot, burning, scalding, her heart was racing in her ears and she felt like she was on fire and her skin was about to crumble into tiny shards. The vulgar sounds of skin on skin and their quick huffs was all it took for her to come undone into pieces with a tiny cry and her hands gripping Anakin’s shoulders enough to break flesh._

_He was panting, hard, and so was she, then each eaning on each other; he planted chaste pecks on her collar bone, over her pale shoulder, kissing her jugular and the wounds up her cheek. It left a strange tingle in her belly and she couldn’t help but lean into it, her left hand cupping the side of his face while she rested her forehead on his temple._

_Boom, boom, boom, the music rocked the door on it’s hinges._

“O-Oh, sorry,” Padme muttered, stuffing her phone into her shirt and under the padding of her bra. She cleared her throat, turning around to walk into the bathroom; here, it was significantly..dingier, and the stalls were awfully short. Yet, she managed to make it work as she went to the farthest one down she could—the handicap one—and did her business.

Many girls came in and out, despite the line, seemingly, laughing loudly and obnoxiously while they gossiped in the mirrors. When Padme came out, and started to wash her hands, they only got louder, uncaring of her being in their “space.” 

The water from the sink’s faucet was tinged brown and the soap was opaque and chunky. 

_”You felt as good as I remember.” Anakin said quietly, almost bashfully and admittedly as he pulled up his jeans. He tucked them into his boots, fixing his shirt, fixing his hair. He couldn’t seem to meet her in the eyes until Padme had gotten back on her feet, wiping the spit from Anakin’s lips off of her own with a quick swipe of her thumb._

_She was feeling soft. Quiet would be better, but there wasn’t any other way to describe it; his skin was flushed pale, and so was hers; and fresh crevices of flaking skin were evident on the both of them, yet thankfully hidden under their clothing._

_It almost hurt her even more, deep in her chest, as he kissed her cheek, lingering—letting his hand hover over hers, almost cupping it into his palm—before quickly exiting the janitor’s closet and clicking the door behind him._

_She could still taste him on her tongue._

Padme dried her hands off, using the hem of her sleeves and the edge of her shirt, since the paper towel dispensers were empty. She shoved the door open with her elbow, almost banging it into some poor woman’s nose, and stalked back out onto the club floor, back to her table where Vicky was waiting with another pair of drinks, ready to be gulped down.

She didn’t seem to catch an eye of Anakin anymore, except for when she passed the front entrance and saw his shoulders above the waiting crowd. A taxi cab pulled up, and he opened a door—she walked away when he started to help the same female from before into the backseat and slide in beside her.

Her heart twinged with an old hurt. 

Not her business.

_Padme walked out of the closet about three minutes after Anakin. No one seemed to notice two people leave so quick after one another, and if they did, they didn’t care, or didn’t want to address it over such loud country-pop music. She hoped that her hair was back in place, at least as much as it could have been—and before she could manage to check her phone, a warm touch to her ribs made her turn to stare at her coworker and friend who coerced her into coming to this place in the first place._

_“Hey, Victoria.” She chirped, smiling warmly and giving Vicky a hug. “Been waiting on you for a whole hour.”_

_“Yeah, yeah, sorry ‘bout that. The hubby had a panic attack at work, so I had to tend to both him and the kids. You know how it can be; anyways—let’s get fucking wasted!” The blonde haired party girl clasped Padme’s hand in her own and dragged her out to an empty table, flagging a waitress._


End file.
